


Five Hour Flights With Your Least Favorite Person

by losingdire



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009 Era (Phandom), 2009 but like dan has hobbit hair, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anxiety, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Teenagers, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Smut, Worry, aerophobia, piss.. a lot idk, rlly just a plot i made up at 2am listening to youtube subliminals, whip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingdire/pseuds/losingdire
Summary: Whilst attending a field trip abroad, Dan and Phil, are forced in each others good graces for a two way flight from London to New York City. As excited Dan is to leave his private school for a week, he forgets about his existential fear of flight, resulting in a lot of comfort and support from the least expected.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first phan fic i've actually posted! i'm super insecure abt my writing and i'm well aware of how many filler sentences i used, but i hope u like it ..  
> -islo

In London, England, at exactly 2:53pm, roughly 100 students of a nonspecific European private school, were packing their bags to begin somewhat of a field trip in New York City to learn about emigration and human rights. With the money the school had attained via donation and event, they had made it their mission to invite students to learn by experience. So while a good handful of teenagers discreetly tried to harbor their illegal substances on board the aircraft, the rest conversed among their dorm mates about the trip.

“I’m just hoping I can sneak out while that hag of an instructor yacks about the old ass museums.” This came from a blond haired, hazel eyed, shithead, known infamously as Derick.

Dan, the more pleasant, charismatic of the boys, replied, “C’monn, she’s not that bad, plus it’s only like a week, and we get two days of freedom.”

There were a few, brief moments of silence, both thinking about the terrible witch, Ms. Arene, who would be guiding them through various historical monuments and brutally poking fun at their ‘interesting’ hairstyles.

“Yeah, I guess.” He nodded to Dan after slipping the last of his clothes in his backpack. Mustering up his best (worst) American accent he said, “Ready to go to ´Merica?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Chaperone’s helped load their bags into the overhead bins, while the vice principal directed the students to their assigned seats in the aeroplane. There weren’t any ‘exclusive’ friend groups per se, rather just different subcategories of the same group repeated, so none of the boys had had a legitimate reason to argue over their placement. But it was rather difficult finding room for boys that have already hit their growth spurt, and can barely squeeze in the plane with one, let alone two people.

Seated next to a couple of taller classmates, was Derick, being suffocated by body odor and making conversation about the neighbouring school’s female students and how unnecessarily long their skirts were. Dan on the other hand, was squeezed between a 45 year old divorcée, and a boy named Matthew who had bladder problems. He and Matthew got along fine, no real drama between them but no real friendship either. Which meant awkward small talk for the next five hours, unless his classmate decided to piss himself.

Eventually, everyone nuzzled into the small, uncomfortable seats, and prepared for flight. Like most forms of air travel, no one was permitted to use their phones till well in the air, so Dan occupied himself by counting how many lines he could see on his hands, until the captain switched on their microphone. There was a slight muffle to the voice, and a dramatic screech whilst they adjusted the headset.

“Good afternoon, folx, welcome aboard flight 3A5 with service from London to New York City-”

The majority of the students attempted to tune out the information until they heard “Enjoy your flight”, and collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

Disobeying the phone rule, Dan scrolled through Tumblr until his data cut out and looked out the window to find he was no longer on the ground. His nerves setting in, he kept a steady tempo with his Scars Démesure Scritto Leather Monk Shoe, an agreeably over priced, old man wedding shoe. Beside him, Matthew too began to tap his rich person shoes on the thin, blue carpet, flashing the occasional glance to the illuminated belt light above their seats.

The captain’s voice squeaked through the speakers a second time, containing something of: “We are currently cruising at an altitude of 10058.4 meters at an airspeed of 643 kilometers per hour. The weather looks good.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

About an hour into their flight, the woman to Dan’s left struck up a conversation with him and Matthew, about what they want to see when they reach new york, both responding with the least amount of words possible to get her off their backs. The woman, now known as Janice, kept an eye on the boy near the aisle, watching as he would squirm in his seat, “Are you alright, dear?” She whispered to him over Dan, gently placing a hand on his knee.

Dan was still holding his breath from when the plane took flight, waiting for the hell ride to be over, as he watched Janice and Matthew exchange a few words.

“Uh, the turbulence is um— I have to use the restroom, miss.” He sat with his hands in his lap, trying to avoid any embarrassment from eavesdropping ears.

“Ah, I’m afraid you’re right. There is quite a bit of turbulence… Do you think you’ll be okay until the plane settles?” Despite her emotionally damaged, ‘my ex husband took the kids so I'm filing lawsuit’ appearance, she was genuinely sweet, trying her best to keep Matthew calm.

Matthew’s eyes went wide, red plastering his face, “Sorry, I’ve got t-” He ran off toward the front of the plane, knocking urgently on the door to the small cube of a bathroom.

A flight attendant squeezing past him said, “Please go back to your seat, son.”

He shook his head at her, pleading to let him in, he explained his situation in a cupped whisper. “Please, please, I’ll be quick I swear.”

“Okay, quickly!”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Matthew rinsed his hands and stepped outside the room again, being greeted by the same flight attendant, holding a baggy of pretzels. “How often does this happen, dear? Would it help if I moved you to the front of the aircraft?”

“Oh gosh, that’d be great but I don’t want to inconvenience anyone…”

“No inconvenience at all, follow me.” She strutted over to a group of boys laughing obnoxiously about the same joke they’ve been telling for the last five minutes. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m going to need a volunteer to switch seats with Matthew here.”

The boys snorted, looking at each, silently communicating their misogyny. Till one of them spoke up, “Sorry, we’re pretty content with our placement.”

With a roll of her eyes she ‘assisted’ the boy nearest to the aisle out of his seat and led him down the walk toward Dan and Janice. “This is fucking stupid.” He muttered, following her lead.

“Language.” She said sternly, “Here’s your seat.” The stewardess gave them a warm smile that immediately fell false as soon as she turned her back. Dan, nauseous, looked over to whom he was now seated next to. A tall boy with obviously dyed hair and an arrogant grin. Phil.

Dan scoffed. He’d rather sit next to a boy who had to take a piss everyone 20 minutes than Phil, the passive aggressive, bag of dicks, who constantly competed with him and his friends for popularity. Janice had no prejudice towards any of the students simply because she was someone’s mom and not an easily aggravated teenage boy.

“Phil is it?” Her eyes scrunched up, looking as cheery as possible when you’ve been on a plane for give or take an hour, “Hope you aren’t too troubled with sitting next to me and Dan.” She turned her attention back to the book in her lap before he could reply with anything other than a glare.

In the middle seat, Dan sat anxiously, pulling as much of himself as possible into the tight, non-reclinable, probably dirty, blue chair. Half of him yearning to glance out the window and the other half knowing how terribly stupid that would be for a boy with aerophobia. But he did it anyway. Peaking around Janice into the small oval window, just barely open to shine on her book, ‘How to Catch a Cheating Husband’.

“Oh shit,” He said under his breath, immediately scooting far back into his chair.

Phil looked at him and laughed, “Not scared of flying are you? God, I didn’t know anyone here could be that pathetic.” He continued patronizing him until another attendant came by with three plastic cups. Ginger ale, cranberry juice, and some sort of pre-made cocktail.

‘Perfect, something to get my mind off the fact that I’m ten thousand, fifty eight meters in the air,’ Dan thought, taking the ginger ale and passing the cocktail to Janice.

He held the cup close to him and watched Phil bring the bitter juice to his lips with a grimace. “Regretting cranberry?” Dan offered, but in return Phil down the cup within seconds of his remark.


	2. Soothing Sentiments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was lowkey hard to write LOL i feel like i use a lot of filler words like:  
> Letting,  
> Other,  
> Then,  
> and it just gets kind of stale, but i'm working on it,,,

Trying to ignore the suddenly rough turbulence, Dan stood from his chair and made pursuit to the toilet. The problem he ran into was the middle seat. He was stuck on one side of Philip Lester and he wasn’t sure if he was properly awake. 

“Phil, are you awake?” He sat down again waiting for a response.

He expected some sort of verbal abuse but instead received something of a ‘mm’.

“I need to get up, I’m going to try and walk past you okay? Don’t fucking tackle me or something.” He held onto the front of the next set of chairs, ‘gracefully’ shuffling past Phil.

“Nice ass, can you get it out of my face?”

Dan quickly continued to the bathroom, swatting his hands at Phil on the way down the aisle. Once in the bathroom, he rested his elbows on the small plastic counter and tried to count his breaths. He’d flown before, but he hadn’t quite mentally prepared himself to board a plane, nor had he prepared his anxiety medication. He let the luke-warm water run over his hands and splashed a bit on his face to calm himself down. 

He went back to his seat in the eighth aisle of the plane, and squeezed past Phil once more, this time a little more easily as Phil lifted his arms above his head and tucked in excessively long legs. There weren’t many things that could keep someone such as Daniel Howell calm in times where the possibility of being back on the ground would most likely include immediate death. So instead of worrying about how rocky the plane flew, he focused his attention on the sound of the turbines. That made it worse. 

Before he knew it, he was shivering. Not because the small nub of a vent above him was too cold, but rather that he was now fearing the idea of the aeroplane crashing down in a fit of flames. Dan surveyed the aircraft’s interior, locating the nearest exit because he wasn’t listening when the flight attendant performed their routine.

“Can you stop fucking shaking? You’re rattling my armrest.” He looked at the armrest, which to his disbelief, really was shuddering. 

Dan frowned, although he did despise Phil, he didn’t want to cause him any physical irritation. “Sorry, I forgot my meds.” He didn’t try to sound weak, but the quiver of his voice announced all of his uncertainty about flying to everyone who was listening. It wasn’t that he hated travel via plane. Going through customs and fearing that a particularly buff security officer will pat you down, but rather the idea of being trapped in an oblong tube, with only extreme speeds suspending him in the air.

“Not my problem,” Phil replied. He gave him the same glare he gave to Janice but this time his eyebrows were far less furrowed, and his posture wasn’t tense. Perhaps that was because he’d been half asleep before the former de-situated his comfortable position that he tried so desperately to pretend wasn't a miniature chair, with a miniature cushion. But maybe it wasn’t that, as he rested his hand on the armrest once again, palm up. An invitation. 

It was a very subtle ‘invitation’, if you could even call it that, so Dan didn’t recognize the gesture. His eyes glittered to Phil’s and followed his directive gaze to the open palm, then back again. “What?” He asked in a way that one would say to another to re-identify the query. “I don’t have anything.”

He rolled his eyes, “Are you dense?” This was said more as a statement. Phil picked up the boy’s arm with his right hand, crossing over his own body and placing it back down atop of his left. Hands intertwined. “I’m trying to be nice. For my sake.” He corrected

Slightly stunned, he nodded, reciprocating the grasp and turning towards the inner seat to hide his embarrassment. 

Holding hands did not help. He was now more anxious than ever, and it was all Phil’s fault. Dan liked it, he liked the way his skin felt against his own but he feared it as well. Instead of shaking the armrest, he went back to tapping his toes on the hollow floor.

“Knock it off.” Phil demanded. In an attempt to rid Dan of his anxieties, he ran his thumb along the edge of Dan’s hand, releasing low shushing noises from between his teeth. He let his eyelids hang, sleeping dragging him down from where he left off. The latter’s head lolled forward in exhaustion, permitting his hair to hang over his lap. Between his dark eyelashes, Phil put a hand to Dan’s scalp and helped him rest on his shoulder, taking the weight of his neck.

“G’night,” He whispered, listening to the other’s breaths. He relaxed with his chin cupped in his hand, and fell lax into sleep.


	3. Just Read With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe sharing isn't so bad after all.

Three and a half hours into the flight, the attendants made their rounds again, picking up trash and returning with cups of fizzy drinks. Both boys still sat tucked away in their compact chairs, enjoying the their last few minutes of shallow sleep, before being abruptly woken by the captain's voice, 

“Hello again, folx, it is now 11:02am and I estimate we will reach our destination at 12pm EST. Thank you.

Phil woke first.  
His hand remained tangled with Dan’s for the majority of their nap but slowly morphed into a prolonged caress instead of entertwine-ment. The other’s head now hung over Phil’s lap, causing him presumable neck pain. The former watched him carefully, forcing himself to keep to his chair, away from Dan’s sleeping figure. At least he’s calm.

Dan woke second.  
The hand that was semi enlaced with Phil’s went immediately to rub the dull throb on the back his neck. He ignored the feeling of eyes on him, knowing it was probably Phil finding the most efficient way to publicly embarrass him. He let his eyes wander to the window again but this time the anxiety didn’t hit him. Outside the sky was bright blue with clouds tattering the clean view. Dan figured the more he stared, the more uneasy he’d become so he turned the opposite way toward the boy staring at him.

This, Dan thought, was terribly strange. Phil wasn’t staring per se, it was something coined as a gaze, or a glance— something Dan would’ve sworn he wasn’t incapable of. Something gentle.

After identifying their situation, Dan scooted excessively close to the left armrest, leaving a solid six inches of void fabric and metal bar between the two. He took his first proper breath and exhaled a quiet ‘thanks’ before refocusing his eyes on the small yellow light above his head and clicking it up a few notches. He reached below the next seat and retrieved a backpack full of miscellaneous goods and a book titled: ‘Golden Boy’, and opened to the second chapter.

The edges of the spine were scrapped and stained and the pages had dark rings of coffee smudging over the indented lines. 

“Good, God.” Phil scoffed, “Pre-owned? Sure as hell looks it.”

Any and all feelings of contentment left Dan immediately after hearing that voice.The voice that nagged him in classes and threw tantrums when he didn’t win a lighthearted game of football. A voice unlike the one that had wished him goodnight in the middle of the afternoon.

“Yeah, better than anything you own.” He nudged Phil’s fancy business man shoes and looked pointedly at a white scuff near the toe.  
Phil’s shiteating grin left his face, “What’s it about?”

Somewhat caught off-guard he replied snappily, “What do I look like? Spark notes?” He recovered, “Here.” Dan handed him the book and opened the cover to the inner flap description thingy.

He read the first paragraph with his finger highlighting each line. “So he’s gay? What’s this ‘facade’ he’s putting up.” 

“Fucker, keep reading.”

“Well pardon me for asking important questions.”

“Read. The. Paragraph.” 

His finger continued to the next sections of words, “Ohhh he’s intersex. What the fuck did Hunter do? Oh my god, I’m so invested.” Phil returned the book to Dan’s lap, “Tell me what happens, yeah?”

Dan accepted the book and flipped to chapter one. Within two seconds, Dan became six inches closer to the right armrest and six inches farther from the left, leaving him with his shoulder pressing against Phil’s and the book on their shared armrest. 

“Just read it with me.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

30 minutes into reading, Phil lifted the armrest to allow closer proximity with Dan and the book, which left them borderline cuddling in the now conjoined, stale scented, blue chairs with the dim led shining on the pages.

“Shit damn.” Dan spat. “Chapter three left me with emotional turmoil I do not want.” He said rubbing his eyes.

“Y’should text me the author’s name so I can read it after the trip.” Phil wasn’t using the voice anymore and was merely trying to uphold his end of the conversation. “Do you have my number, even?

The forward nature of the question flustered them both and resulted in muttered apologies and lots of fluttering eyelashes. “No, I don’t.” He opened the first page yet again, right it here, it’s not like the condition of the book could get any worse.”

And so he did.  
Among the torn corners and stained words was Phil’s cellphone number, scrawled in a mix of capital letters and janky cursive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took me fuckin AGES to get around to writing. TOOK ME AGES TO WRITE THIS MF CHAPTER AND ITS ONLY 800 WORDS agh anyway. i actually enjoyed writing this!


End file.
